


colors of freedom

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Getting high, M/M, Marijuana, Other, Recreational Drug Use, art student! john, john smokes weed, laf being a good friend and loving john, stylized writing, thats the whole fic, writing study, written at 1:55 am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 11:18:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17917745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: John broke out into yet another laughing fit, happy to be alive and happy to feel and happy about the colors and the way the light folded onto the sheets and the smell of the pillows and the lingering scent of marijuana.John missed Alex.•sort of wrote this as a style/writing study.





	colors of freedom

**Author's Note:**

> john misses alex. john gets high. it’s 1:55 am and i’m homesick.
> 
> writing study. possible oneshot

Smoke drifted off John’s lips with a lazy smile spread across his face. He giggled to himself quietly, hands absentmindedly running and frizzing out his curls. Lying on his back, with blankets tangled around his limbs and pillows piled up on the unmade bed.

 

The smell of marijuana hung low and thick in the room, and John found himself lost in it. He buried his face in a pillow, inhaling the scent that clung to it, clean and safe.

 

Another hit. John felt weightless. His soul had ascended and his mind had been freed, his limbs non-existent, and his anxieties irrelevant. It felt nice to not care, a feeling John had grown so utterly in love with.

 

So John flipped to the other side of the bed, sprawling out his arms and legs. The window to the room was open and soft light drifted in. John liked the way the reds and oranges and yellows stretched and danced across his fingers. He played with the light a little more, laughing to the blankets and laughing to the sky and laughing to Alex but Alex wasn’t there so he just laughed and laughed but wasn’t really laughing because it wasn’t really funny and he wasn’t really happy.

 

John started to feel the  _ bad feelings _ that he  _ did not like _ and so he brought another slow drag and settled the blunt in between his teeth. The smoke drifted in as his worries drifted out and as the tears started to settle in his eyes. His outstretched body started to curl up a little, his arms and legs tucking themselves into the folds of the bedsheets and his head starting to rest against his chest, a pillow wedged between. The name Alexander was mouthed into the sheets, and not in the way he wanted, but in a way that brought all those bad feelings flooding back. 

 

Bottles of oil paints were spread across the floor, tipped onto their sides and staining the carpet. John rolled to the edge of the bed, reached down and grabbed a few of the greens and a few of the yellows and a few of the oranges and kept grabbing until he had almost all of them in his reach. His fingers squeezed the tubes insistently until color spilled out onto the sheets and onto his hands and fingers and arms. So he giggled at the sight of all the colors, grabbing a few more and pouring them onto his stained palms. He ran his hands up and down his body, his tank top giving access to the expanse of his freckled arms, a mess of blues and reds and yellows and oranges on his skin. The white sheets under him were stained.

 

Another drag of smoke. It was a beautiful mess.

 

John broke out into yet another laughing fit, happy to be alive and happy to feel and happy about the colors and the way the light folded onto the sheets and the smell of the pillows and the lingering scent of marijuana.

 

5:46. The time stared at him. John stared at back. John missed Alex. His hands wandered lower down his body.

 

The door opened. His friend.

 

And so Lafayette gave a small little sad smile and walked to the edge of the bed where John was seated.

 

Lafayette muttered something in quiet french as he took in the scene, and only stared at John, eyes soft and concerned and John was suddenly hyper-aware of the mess of reds and blues and greens that stained his sheets and his hands and his hair. He acknowledged it, and a blush dusted his freckled cheeks that way that John knew Lafayette liked.

 

John let another hazy smile stretch across his face, eyes half-lidded and body completely relaxed. He sat up a little, propping himself on his elbows. Brought the blunt up to his mouth, taking a long drag just for Gil.

 

He saw Lafayette stutter a little where he was sitting. More muttered french. John didn’t know french but he knew it sounded pretty. He also wished Lafayette would just say something with that pretty voice of his instead of leaving the two in silence. He was too busy studying his stained body and stained sheets.

 

So John looked at Laf with wide eyes, openly and earnestly. “Do I look pretty like this?” John whispered, leaning in. Paint on his cheeks and his brow and his neck.

 

“Oh _ , mon ami _ .” Lafayettes voice broke a little toward the end. A gentle hand reached to John’s hair, hovering over the soft curls. John took the opportunity to lean in just a little closer.

 

John held out his blunt. “Want a hit?” John already knew the answer. He always said no.

 

A small shake of his head confirmed it. So John leaned in just a little more, bringing the blunt to his own lips, and then bringing his lips to Gil’s lips and then letting just a little of that smoke linger into his bloodstream.

Only moments later did he feel the wet warmth of what felt like a tear, fall into the mess of colors in his sheets.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m so tired
> 
> leave a comment or kudos or whatever you want


End file.
